Bloodshade

by Isadora Brown

“Why are you calling me when you should be at home, staying the fuck home and keeping yourself out of trouble?”

  I smiled at his greeting. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he already knew what had happened and the story hadn’t been reported fully yet. I wondered if he knew about Jon. I wondered what side he would pick when it came to Jon.

  “Hello to you too,” I said. The doors to my office were closed but I still kept my voice down. This city had spies everywhere.

  “Don’t try to charm me with hello,” he replied. His voice was low but he spoke quickly. I always called him a natural smooth-talker because he could charm the pants off anyone. It was one of the reasons I was attracted to him in the first place. “Anyway, everything okay? What can I do? How can I help?”

  My heart pounded painfully against my chest. It was so easy to get lost in that voice, to forget all of our problems and the reason we broke up. We had great times and the sex was amazing but we were just too invested in our jobs and were incredibly passionate about who and what we fought for.

  “Nothing, I just—”

  “It’s obviously not nothing, Lara, come on. I know you. I can hear it in your voice. Tell me so I can help you. I want to help you.”

  I closed my eyes. Asking for help did not mean we were getting back together. It didn’t mean I wanted to get back together. I took a shaky breath.

  “I have a name I need more information on,” I said.

  I fiddled with the cross hugging my neck and prayed that I was making the right decision when it came to trusting Robbie with this.

  “You’re at work,” he stated. He let out a pensive sigh. “Do you remember that thing I taught you, four months into our relationship? If we ever thought—”

  I nodded my head but remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah,” I got out.

  “Sarah only needs you anyway,” I said. My voice was shaky as I recited the words. I didn’t know if the code I was reciting would make sense to Robbie. I hoped I remembered it the right way. We hadn’t been together in a few years and I hadn’t used it in…since I didn’t know when. “Carey really analyzes whatever fucking order Reyna delivers.”

  “A name?” Robbie asked. “You gave me three. I’ll see what I can do with that but I’m not promising you anything, especially with how vague your hints were. You really need to work on secret codes, Lara.”

  I fought back a smile. Robbie was covering his bases. The code must have worked if he was reciting what we had practiced so long ago. He got the name. He would contact me when he had information to follow.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “I guess I’ll talk to you later then?”

  “I hope so.” His tone was wistful, perhaps even genuine. Robbie had always been a good liar. There were times I couldn’t tell the difference between his gimmicks and his facts. “I miss the sound of your voice, Lara. Have a good one. Stay safe, okay?”

  He clicked off before I could respond.

  I stood up and shook out my body. I needed to shake Robbie off. It was so easy to get swept away in him, especially when it sounds like he genuinely cared.

  After pacing up and down my office a few times, I plopped back into my seat and downed the rest of my Fiji eater. I knew I wasn’t going to touch my egg salad sandwich again so I dumped that in my waste bin.

  Michelle needed a story. I needed to give her one. Something that had actual evidence backing it up. I couldn’t write about Jon yet and there was nothing definitive about Guzman. Just because I caught grainy photos of her down at the dock, the pictures were indecipherable. It could be anyone at any time doing anything.

  One thing I knew would make the paper that Michelle always needed more of was fluff pieces. Abby Dawson was in charge of those—a sweet woman around my age always looking for new submissions. Perry was a pretty bleak place though, so it was difficult to find any takers. Somehow, though, she always managed to continue to churn out work, even though eighty percent of the time, she was doing everything on her own.

  I was loathe to turn in a fluff piece. I didn’t want my name associated with them. People might not take what I wrote seriously. I might get trapped doing nothing but fluff pieces. I might get ridiculed the way Abby Dawson was ridiculed.

  I knew Michelle wouldn’t fire me if I didn’t write anything. But her kindness would only extend so far. She wouldn’t keep paying me if I didn’t have anything to turn in.

  I held my head in my hands before pulling my fingers through the locks. I didn’t want to make the phone call but I knew I had no choice. Fluff pieces were better than wedding announcements and obituaries.

  Before I had the chance to pick up the phone and call Abby, my cell phone chimed. I saw the blocked number and knew it was Robbie. It hadn’t even been a half-hour since we got off the phone with each other.

  “What the fuck are you getting yourself into, Lara Tucker?” My mouth dropped in shock, but before I could get a word in, Robbie cut me off. “That name… Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is it…?” He let his voice trail off before saying, “Is it Jon Hawkins?”

  His voice had lowered even though we were on a secure line and he didn’t work with anyone that could overheat him. I definitely wasn’t around anyone either. For the most part, we were pretty isolated.

  “I can’t tell you anything more than what I already told you,” I said in a low voice.

  Robbie had been very clear about his opinion of Jon. He didn’t like the guy—not because he was killing a bunch of people but because he blamed Jon for getting me caught up in all of the stuff that went with knowing him. The truth of the matter was, I was swept up in Jon’s drama because of my own stupid actions.

  “Dammit, Lara,” he said before sucking in a sharp breath.

  “Look, Robbie,” I said. “I came to you because I trust you and because you know what the hell you’re doing. If you need me to pay you for your services so you’ll treat me like a client rather than someone you know personally, let me know if your fee has changed.”

  “You know I’m not going to charge you,” Robbie said after a long moment. “You know I don’t like this. You know he can take care of himself, Lara—”

  “I didn’t call you for a lecture, Robbie,” I cut in. I was doing a decent job of keeping my voice down but I knew it wasn’t going to last. “Are you going to get me the info, or do I have to find someone else?”

  Robbie snorted. “You won’t be able to find anyone else who can do the job I can do,” he said dismissively. “We both know that.” Another huffed sigh. “Our spot, seven fifteen.”

  I rolled my eyes. Robbie was notorious for meeting at the most random times. When we first started seeing each other, he insisted on meeting at five twenty-seven once. I thought it was a cute quirk but there were times when it drove me fucking crazy.

  “You got it,” I murmured before hanging up.

  I glanced at my computer screen.

  3:34PM

  It would be a long three hours.

  Instead of calling Abby, I decided to get a head start on my article. I grabbed my laptop from my bottom drawer, just underneath my first aid kit. I didn’t trust the security system at the paper even though Robbie helped install it himself. Not that I didn’t trust Robbie or doubted he knew what he was doing, but I doubted other people and their tenacity. Instead, I always wrote everything on my laptop and backed it up on my fob I had on my keychain. That way, I always carried my work with me. If I lost my keys ever, I was screwed but I didn’t plan on losing my keys.

  Everyone started leaving after five and six but I waited until seven. I shut down my laptop, deleted the article, but made sure to save everything, and headed out.

  Robbie and I used to eat at this Italian bistro, a quiet hole in the wall that was both affordable but quaint. I stepped in the small restaurant just after seven and grabbed a table in the back. I saw no black bed-head anywhere, which meant Robbie wasn’t here. I didn’t expect him to be. He would show up exactly at seven fifteen.

  I made
sure to order fettuccini Alfredo to go and a glass of red wine. I wanted to make this quick. Lingering would bring back memories, and even though I was over Robbie, I did not need the reminder.

  There were roughly ten tables that sat two people that filled up the small space. Laminated menus were handed out as patrons chose their seats. The room was bright but not overbearing, with pink and green pastels. The tablecloths were off white with soft flowers on them. A subtle scent of tomato sauce hung in the air and always made me hungrier than I was.

  “Always sit where you can see the door,” a familiar voice said behind me. “You never know who will take advantage of you with your back turned.”

  I felt my lips turn up despite myself.

  Robbie plopped in front of me, all one hundred and eighty pounds. He was shorter than most guys, at five foot eight, but he was built of muscle. He kept in shape despite the fact that his job found him sitting behind a computer screen.

  “Here’s what you’re looking for, everything I could find, which means it’s all of it.” He plopped a Manila folder onto the table filled with documents. “Lara.” He crossed his long fingers together and leaned towards me, his puppy-dog brown eyes pooling into mine. I could see nothing but concern. “Please. If this is—”

  The waitress interrupted us by handing me my to-go bag of fettuccini. I hadn’t touched my wine.

  “I appreciate your concern, Robbie, really I do.” I stood up, gathering the folder and the food. “And I appreciate you doing this. I owe you. But this is important.” I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I ordered you red.”

  I left before he could charm me into eating with him, which he very well had the ability to. I needed to head out and buy some sunflowers.

  Chapter 6

  The sunflowers rested on my balcony. It was already dark and there were no street lights nearby to help draw attention to the bright yellow petals. I tried not to worry about that and made myself busy. I had no idea when Jon would respond to the flower signal. It could be in minutes. It could be in hours.

  I plopped on the couch and ate my lukewarm fettuccini. I flipped through the channels, trying to focus on some mindless television, but I couldn’t. My eyes kept going back to my balcony where the flowers sat.

  I let out a huff. This was ridiculous. My body thrummed with anticipation, and he might not even show.

  The Manila folder Robbie got me was left untouched on the surface of my dining table. I felt a strong pull to check it out but I couldn’t bring myself to go over there and investigate. Judging from Robbie’s warning, he must have found some serious things in there, much more than just her accolades as director of the CIA. This was Jon’s thing. It wasn’t my business.

  But I can admit I was tempted.

  I thought about eating something sweet but I couldn’t bring myself to work up an appetite. Even my delicious pasta was left half-eaten on the sink. Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat with the television off.

  My mind started flashing back to the night before. Gun shots rang. I jumped, as though they had just happened right behind me. I shook my head and took another sip of my wine. I could feel my earlobe burn. Somehow, I didn’t remember being shot that close and yet, now I was starting to feel pain burn throughout my body. It was suddenly hard for me to breathe. My nose twitched, the scent of hot gun powder tickling my nostrils. My heart started to race. Another gun shot, so close. Tears filled my eyes. I wasn’t going to make it—they were going to get me—

  “Lara, hey, Lara.”

  The gravelly voice snapped me out of my thoughts and I snapped my eyes open. I hadn’t realized I had closed them. Jon was kneeling in front of me, his big hands covering my own. I could feel the warmth even among the calluses on his hands. Somehow, the feel of something rough like that made my heart slow down.

  “Take a breath,” he instructed.

  I didn’t even have to think about it. I just did it. I took a deep breath, then another. His eyes held onto mine, dark and intense, filled with life and concern.

  “You okay?” he asked once I had a better hold of myself.

  I nodded my head. I couldn’t find my voice just yet.

  In all honesty, I had no idea what just happened. I had been sitting on the couch, trying to figure out what to do, when I was suddenly transported back into yesterday. It was like I was still there, running. I could still feel my heart beat against my chest. I was actually sweating. I could feel my body prickle with tension.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  Jon was silent, slowly coiling a strand of hair behind my ear. He dropped his hand and tilted up my chin with the crook of his finger.

  It was strange, all of this physical affection from Jon Hawkins. When we first met, he always made sure to keep a safe distance between us. It made sense. He didn’t know me. He didn’t trust me. But he wanted to.

  I couldn’t pinpoint when things shifted for us. I didn’t know if it was when he was lying on my bed, soaking my sheets with blood thanks to a recent bullet going straight through his abdomen. Luckily, my friend—a nurse for Perry Hospital in the emergency room—managed to stitch him up and keep her silence. He was mumbling things, completely incoherent, and I was so worried about him, I fell asleep in my computer chair, curled up into a ball.

  He woke up before I did and when I woke up, we just stared at each other. He was staring at me now the way he stared at me then.

  “You shouldn’t apologize for what you’re going through,” he murmured, sitting back on his knees and distancing himself from me. “Post-Traumatic Stress. I can see it in your eyes.”

  I forced a smile and shook my head. “I appreciate the concern,” I said, “but I’m not.”

  He made a disapproving grunt, which I chose to ignore. I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t going to push it. I took my shaking fingers and stuck them between my thighs to keep him from seeing that I was still recovering from the hallucination.

  “Your folder is over there.” I nodded my head to the dining table.

  He didn’t turn to look. Instead, he continued to appraise me, from my head down to my feet. I knew he saw through the bullshit I was trying to feed him. I knew he could see I was scared, despite me insisting that this wasn’t the case. I was still in my work attire for crying out loud. I was so caught up in everything else that I completely forgot to change into something more comfortable.

  “You okay?”

  I knew the question meant more than what it meant but I didn’t know how to decipher it. I rolled my shoulders back and leaned against my couch as Jon stood on his booted feet and tracked over to the table. My eyes narrowed on the carpet.

  “What did you step in?” I asked, getting off the couch to get a better look at my probably now-ruined carpet.

  He didn’t even flinch at my question. Instead, he plopped his bulky frame into my chair and proceeded to open the folder.

  “Jon,” I said. “Is this blood? What the hell? Are you okay? What happened?”

  He still didn’t look at me. I could hear him turning page after page. Jon had a photographic memory, but the speed he was flicking through the sheets meant he was looking for something specific.

  “Jon,” I snapped.

  He looked up, narrowing his eyes where I crouched on the carpet, trying to balance on the balls of my feet and keep my legs together while trying to decipher what Jon was walking around with on his boots. The closer I got, I realized without a doubt, that this was blood.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “You have blood on your feet.”

  “Sorry about that.” At least he sounded sincere. “I had to take care of something before I got here.” He looked down at the folder. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Is it what you’re looking for?”

  I didn’t exactly want to give away that Robbie helped me. For some reason, I didn’t want Jon to know about Robbie. Not that I was ashamed of Robbie by any means, but I didn’t want Jon to know. When I was with
him, even talking about someone else reminded me we weren’t the only two people in our own world.

  “Red,” he said again. He rarely called me Lara. “You didn’t put yourself at risk for this, did you? I should have—” He pressed his lips together to keep from saying something and glanced away. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you for help.”

  “You asked me for help because you’re desperate,” I said, standing up. I wanted to walk over to the table but I didn’t want to be close to him. I needed the distance between us. It helped me stay focused. “Don’t pretend like you care about what happened to me.”

  Jon slapped the surface of the table and slowly stood to his full height. He wasn’t trying to intimidate me. I could never be afraid of him because I knew he would never hurt me. His dark eyes narrowed at me; his jaw locked as though he was holding onto his words for dear life.

  “God dammit, Lara,” he said. “Don’t say shit like that. You know I would—”

  “And I would,” I said shortly. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Jon slid back down in his chair and nodded his head. His eyes dropped back to the folder before flicking his eyes up at me.

  “I need to keep you safe, Lara,” he said, unable to meet my eyes. “You’re my only…” Finally, he licked eyes with me.

  “Friend?” I guessed. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was trying to say. When he said nothing in return, I looked at the folder. “Will this help you?”

  “You didn’t read it?” He seemed surprised.

  “Jon, I’m not going to go through your things,” I told him. “This is for you. If I can help—”

  “You’re already in enough shit,” he muttered. He leaned back in his chair like he lived here, like this was his chair and he enjoyed sitting in it. “Lara, I don’t think you realize how much danger you’re in when it comes to what you’re trying to do.”

  “I’m trying to tell the truth,” I told him. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just want to tell the truth.”

  “No, you don’t,” Jon said. “You want to find the truth, and you don’t care how you get that information. You’ll buy it, sell things to get it, trade things. But what you’re doing with Guzman? You’re risking your life. And I’m telling you that I don’t think it’s worth it.”